Reflections in Destruction
by GopherGod
Summary: Pete, Myka, and Artie and the thoughts that pass through their minds in the moments during and directly following the season 3 finale.
1. Pete

Author's Note: So, this is the first fic I've ever really written. However, my Warehouse 13 obsession is not saited simply by watching the episodes a few times a week. So here's what has been rattling around in my brain. Enjoy.

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Fire swirled around them, strangely heatless through the bubble HG had saved their lives with. Pete tried to push the thought away, but her image kept coming back to him. Fire leaping up and around the woman he had only recently come to like. Suddenly it was no longer HG he saw in his mind's eye, consumed by fire. It was his dad. A fireman charging into fatal danger, ready to save as many lives as he could. Pete couldn't have said how long the flames of the blast clawed at their protection. He could feel Artie shifting from foot to foot, restless in his helplessness. Myka, on the other hand, was still. Her shoulders slumped and her head down.

Slowly the fire died away and the force field flickered away. Pete looked down to see the floor beneath them was still its original color up until the ashen ring that still glowed from the heat. Beyond them was nothing but twisted ruin. "That was his plan. To destroy the warehouse." He turned slowly from the wreckage to look at his teammates, both as shell-shocked as he was. "We lost, Artie," he said helplessly. "We lost."

As his eyes moved again, unable to stop staring at the destruction around him, Pete's gaze found a lump of twisted melted metal. It took him a moment to realize what he was looking at. Beatrix Potter's tea pot. It had been just another case. Granted, one that had made the team confront some of their greatest fears, but now Pete held onto that case. It was a memory of the warehouse; all that was left. He thought about bringing the pot back after Myka had saved him and Claudia in Fargo's video game. It had just been he and his partner as they goofily bowed and curtsied and placed the tea set in its rightful place on the warehouse shelf. Part of Pete wondered if that shelf had actually been near-by, or if the blast had somehow thrown it. But most of him just sadly looked on at Myka's expression across from him. She looked so lost, so heartbroken. He could barely hold onto the image of skipping down the aisle with her, laughing despite the unknown bleakness ahead of them. Artie had spoken as Pete stared around them, feeling sadness and hopelessness set in, but just then did the words really sink in.

"Not yet."


	2. Myka

Gone. Everything was gone. Myka knew it without opening her eyes. Without looking up. Without listening as the silence of the barrier collapsed into the sound of her happiest place on her earth burning. She knew Helena was gone. The warehouse was gone. The heat hit her like a punch, but she didn't react to it anymore than she did to Pete's words. Slowly she looked around, her gaze flat and stony. She could not dwell on what had just happened. She needed to focus, to take on some task. Like she had when Sam had died, viewing the case from every angle to find Leo. Like when Steve had died and they needed to stop Sykes. But this time there was nothing to focus on. Just ash and flames. The twisted ruins of the job that had given her so much more than just a place to work. She had found her family here. She had forgiven herself for not saving Sam and had caught his killers because of the Warehouse. She had reunited with her father because of here, a reunion Pete claimed had saved his life. She had found a wonderful friend and partner in Pete. She had immersed herself in the living history of the world and now that history lay scattered and destroyed. But more than just history was gone. More than just memories. Her words from earlier that day hit her again.

_Like burning down a library with a friend trapped inside._

__She remembered the first time Helena saved her life. God, there had been so many since. She could still feel herself clinging to the other woman between realizing she was going to die and suddenly she was flying. The grappler gun looked so small and impossible as it drew them into the air together, but now that was gone too. It had been destroyed when saving the regents from Syke's crusade to destroy the Remati** S**hackle. It had saved her life, then was gone. And its inventor, her friend, had done the same. Myka wanted to be angry. Angry Helena had taken it upon herself to be a martyr. Angry that she had left Myka here, alone. Angry that there was nothing more to do. But instead she just felt hopeless.

She had already said goodbye to her friend once, but she had survived. They didn't destroy the Janus coin and Helena had come back to her. They had been so close. So close.

But now she was gone. Myka's happiest place was gone.

"Not yet."


	3. Artie

**Author's** **Note:** So, this is the last bit, so, kind of short. Feedback is appreciated, naturally, and I hope people who read this enjoyed it. Thanks!

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He had lost a lot in his time. Family. Friends. Partners. Throughout it all he had always had the warehouse. Sometimes he resented how much this place had taken over his life, but the truth was, this was his life now. There was nothing that could make him leave it and he had long since accepted that someday he would die in service to the cause. Several times he had been close. More times than he could count, and more times than that he had lost others to something he should have prevented. He should have stopped James before he was so far gone. He should have convinced the Regents to re-bronze HG Wells before she tried to end the world and so destroyed Myka's confidence. He should have worked to better protect Steve when he went undercover. He should have found a way to defuse the bomb that was ruining everything. So many failures, but never had he expected to lose what it had all been about. Now he just kept watching it in his mind, over and over. Flames exploding out, ripping through the shelves that held the work so many had died for. All of it, destroyed. Artie felt like the flames had taken a part of him as well. Last year he had been shot. He had been tortured. The year before run through with a sword. He had been torn apart by bombs set off by his oldest friend. He had watched that friend disintegrate through his fingers. None of that had hurt this much.

The man looked down at his hand, his fingers wrapped around the golden pocket watch. It had belonged to James, but they had never been sure what it did. James had wanted to try it and find out; Artie had refused, preferring to treat it like any other artifact and lock it away. Now he wished he had listen. Wished he knew what to do. Whether it could right his wrongs. It seemed unlikely. They had paid the ultimate price this time. How could this possibility be right again? How could such destruction, such ruin, be dealt with?

The bomb had ripped everything away. Artie had been trapped behind that blasted force field of HG Wells, unable to do a thing as his warehouse was devoured by angry flames. He felt like his legs would collapse, fold him to the floor. He could hear Pete speaking. He could see Myka struggling not to give into her loss. Still he did not reach out to comfort his agents. He couldn't just look at the part that had survived and be content. He hated losing agents, of course, but he had at least known how to deal with that. He had experience in that part of the mission. But this... all he felt was a hollow ache. After chancing his identity to hide from the Russians, learning how much pain his past had caused people, losing so much time with his father, all that was left of him was the warehouse. Now that was gone too.

The man closed his fingers more tightly around the pocket watch, speaking without even listening to his own words. He stared down at that last glimmer of hope. His last chance not to lose himself. He couldn't give up.

"Not yet."


End file.
